


A Young Wizard's Guide to Magic

by Windybird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore regrets his mistakes, Gen, Good Dudley Dursley, Good Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy is an asshole, Multi, Sirius is trying his best okay, They all deserve better, in which dudley is actually good, running away au, same goes for bellatrix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:59:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windybird/pseuds/Windybird
Summary: Ten-year-old Dudley and Harry escape Privet Drive in the middle of the night, leaving chaos throughout the Wizarding World as they discover the disappearance of their savior. With only four hundred pounds and three sausages between them, the two try to make their way across the country as Aurors, professors, and Death Eaters alike try hunting them down. But when Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange escape prison seemingly with the intent of killing the boys, it's up to Harry to uncover the truth behind what he is capable of in order to protect his family- and whether or not he can find it within himself to do it. (Alternatively- in which Dudley is actually a good cousin, Harry is completely unaware of the truth behind his parents' deaths, Sirius Black is on his way to reunite with his godson, Dumbledore regrets everything, Lucius Malfoy is just trying to escape total death at the hands of his master, and the only fighting skills Harry and Dudley contain are the power moves from Street Fighter).





	1. Chapter 1

The weeds had grown that summer. It was both sunny enough and humid enough to provide that extra little _kick_ to the garden that everyone had been admiring the previous winter. They sprouted up as if by magic; though you would never hear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Privet Drive say so.

If you asked, Petunia Dursley would tell you she only used the best fertilizers. Vernon Dursley would sprout some propaganda about how hard work is the backbone this country was founded upon, but really it was simply some careless advice given to him by a weary coworker who had his own garden back home. Both of them would never dare say the truth- that, in all actuality, they hadn’t been in their garden since they moved into Number 4, Privet Drive. Though they had many faults, carelessness was not one of them.

It wasn’t the bended back of a woman uncomfortable with her own body even as she slowly crept into middle age, nor was it the back of a man who got sweaty after climbing up a flight of stairs that could be seen over the weeds that summer. It was the back of a young boy, newly ten, with messy black hair and bright green eyes that squinted behind glasses barely held together with duct tape and glue he had found in his teacher’s drawer. Nobody in their right minds had gone outside all summer long, and if you asked Harry Potter, that was well within reason. Temperatures were hitting 100 degrees and rising, or so the weatherman who he could vaguely hear from the open window was saying. He inched closer to the window, desperate for a respite from the hot air that pressed all around him like a winter coat. If he closed his eyes and focused hard enough, he could almost taste the lukewarm cup of water from this morning.

“They got you doing chores again?” a voice asked, and Harry looked up.

Sttanding above him was his cousin Dudley. A few months older, several inches taller, and many pounds wider, it was safe to say that Dudley was quite possibly the only friend Harry ever had in his entire life, the only one that ever stood up for him. It was really a crying shame that the ones he most often had to stand up against was his parents, but his intervention saved Harry from many hours waiting in a hot car while they went to cool places, like the zoo or the aquarium, even if Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia scowled the whole time.

Harry stood up on his aching knees and nodded, too hot and weary to speak. Dudley edged around the fence so he could go to Harry’s side, reddened face creasing in concern as he took in his cousin’s sweaty face and bruised knuckles.

“I could go sneak you some water,” Dudley whispered, glancing hesitantly at the open window where his mother and father could be seen sitting on the couch, watching the bland morning news show Aunt Petunia had picked out.

“Please,” Harry whispered back, giving him a grateful smile. He watched Dudley open the back door as loudly as he dared and disappear inside the house, closing his eyes automatically as the cool air flittered over his sweaty face. He wasn’t allowed inside until he finished all his chores- which, at the moment, included pulling the weeds, watering the plants, and cleaning Mrs. Figg’s cat’s droppings off the lawn. He stretched and winced as dull pain rushed through his back and knees.

“Here,” Dudley said as he reappeared through the back door, holding a cup of water so chilled with ice cubes Harry could see the condensation from where he was standing. Nearly salivating, he took the cup from Dudley’s hands and eagerly gulped the water down in one swig. After he was finished, he reached into the cup, grabbed the ice cubs, and stuffed them all in his mouth like a chipmunk. Dudley giggled.

“You look stupid,” he told Harry, lacking any bite. Harry grinned, splattering a few ice cubes onto the grass. Dudley watched him spit out one of the ice cubes and rub it on his face for a while before jumping to his feet. “It’s not fair that they make you do this!”

Harry froze, risking a glance at the open window. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were still safely on the couch, engrossed in some political drama Uncle Vernon had switched to. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and turned to Dudley.

“They hate me,” Harry told him seriously. “You know that.”

“They shouldn’t,” Dudley scowled. “You couldn’t hurt a fly. And they call you dangerous- what does that even mean?”

Harry shrugged. They had been calling him that since he was a four year old with a chipped tooth from falling onto the pavement too hard, as if he were some sort of bomb just waiting to go off. Dudley’s guess was as good as his.

Dudley turned away abruptly, hiding his face from Harry. “I hate them. They give me anything I want- toys, Playstation, an extra room I don’t even need, and they force you to sleep in that stupid cupboard. They’re mad.”

Harry stayed quiet.  He had been waiting for the day where he could escape Privet Drive and never return, some far-flung day years from now, but even though he knew Dudley disliked his parents almost as much as Harry did, he would never leave Privet Drive with him. His entire future was planned out by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, from the moment he left primary school to the second he graduated university.

“I would do anything to get away from them,” Dudley continued, seemingly oblivious to the thoughtful expression that had made its way onto his cousin’s face. “Anything at all. Sell my toys? Done. Stop being Piers Morgan’s friend? Done. Give away my Nintendo-“

“Dudley,” Harry interrupted, feeling very much as though he were a cartoon character with a light bulb on top of his head, “why don’t we run away?”

Dudley blinked owlishly at Harry. “Run away?”

“We could pack our bags tonight,” Harry said, feeling more and more hopeful as the words escaped his mouth, “grab whatever money we can, and just leave. We could do it. Maybe we could even move to America- or anywhere away from here.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty,” Dudley said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“We could go to Canada!” Harry burst eagerly.

“Or rent a flat in New York!”

“Star in our own TV show!”

“Become wildly rich!”

“Become the President!”

“Become the king!”

They laughed hysterically. Dudley opened his mouth to suggest another wildly improbable achievement, but before he could Harry froze. The telly had been turned down low, and he couldn’t hear anything from inside the house. He tensed, feeling very much like one of those wild animals he watched on the Discovery Channel when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren’t home. Suddenly-

“ _Boy_!” Uncle Vernon burst through the back door, face turning an interesting color of purple as he observed the scene before him. Harry followed his gaze onto the cup he clutched in his hand, to the frozen smile on his son’s face, to Harry’s own frozen figure, like a deer caught in headlights. “Explain- yourself- _now_!”

“Dad-“ Dudley tried to cut in, but Uncle Vernon cut him off with a single glance.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Uncle Vernon hissed as he strode up to Harry, clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him in so close he could feel Uncle Vernon’s breath hit his cheek, like a bull. “Are you trying to turn my own son against your aunt and I?”

“Dudley!” Aunt Petunia burst from somewhere behind Uncle Vernon, clutching her son into her arms so tightly it looked as though he couldn’t breathe. “What did that nasty, foul boy make you do?”

“He made him steal from us, Petunia,” Uncle Vernon said, both in triumph at finally catching Harry for wrongdoing, and in barely suppressed anger, brandishing the empty cup of water with a flourish. “Our own son.”

“It’s a cup of _water!”_ Dudley protested, fighting against his mother’s arms, fastened against him like a vice. “Mum- stop- gerroff me-“

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren’t listening to Dudley anymore, instead focusing on Harry like he was a war criminal and they were his executioners. They exchanged The Look- the look that meant Harry was about to be assigned fifty extra chores, plus no dinner for the night-, before leaning in close and glaring down without mercy a the ten-year-old.

“Do the washing after you’re done here!”

“Clean the dishes!”

“Wash the car!”

“Paint the fence!”

“Mow the lawn!”

It was a gross, twisted parody of Harry and Dudley’s original exclamations. Dudley exchanged a miserable look of his own with Harry before being escorted inside like the compliance of said war criminal. Harry turned back to the weeds with a low groan. He was going to get out of here, one way or another.

 

* * *

 

Harry crawled into his cupboard and collapsed onto his blankets, exhaustion crashing over him in waves. He had worked all day long, and had extra chores to do tomorrow, and quite possibly until the end of summer (he hadn’t decided whether or not the Dursleys would force him to work through school as well).

Harry pulled the blankets over his ears, despite the heat that emitted from the small space under the stairs. He never liked the dark, which was a very sad irony considering the fact he had been living under the stairs for most of his life, and had a firm if irrational belief that his blankets could shield him from whatever spiders were still left inside the cupboard (despite his many attempts to clean it up). He was just beginning to doze off when he heard the thump at his door.

He lied still, not daring to move an inch. What could possibly be out there? Monsters, ghosts, demons- though why on Earth they would choose to haunt the least supernatural neighborhood in the country, who knew…

“Harry! Open up!”

The door opened. In the threshold stood the demon- otherwise known as his cousin, holding up a heavy backpack and a flashlight which he shone directly on his face.

“We’re getting out of here,” Dudley whispered, holding out a hand to Harry. Harry blinked, not entirely awake, and took it. Dudley pulled him out of the cupboard, shining his flashlight around for Harry to blindly grope around for what little valuables he contained.

“What about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia?” Harry whispered groggily as he grabbed his socks and stuffed it inside the backpack, which Dudley zipped open for him.

“They’re dead asleep. I checked.” Dudley gave him a little mischievous smile. “I stole their money.”

“You _stole_ their money?” Harry asked, wide awake.

“I got about 400 pounds,” Dudley told him smugly, holding up the thick wad of cash. Harry had never seen that much money in his entire life, and he gaped as Dudley tucked it safely within the smallest zipper of the backpack. “That’ll be enough to keep us going for about a year, I reckon.”

It certainly _seemed_ like a lot, but Harry knew if they weren’t careful, they could blow their entire operation within days.

He threw on his sweatshirt- Dudley’s, technically- and took one last good look around his cupboard, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his chest that he had never known existed before now. This was the space where he had spent most of his childhood; pinched, unhappy, and darker than anything, in more ways than one. Now that he was finally escaping, it seemed almost unreal, too good to be true.

Dudley was talking about how he had tried to fit his Nintendo inside his backpack when they heard the noise from upstairs. They froze automatically, sharing a startled look as Uncle Vernon’s heavy footsteps thudded down the staircase. They scampered into the cupboard, uncomfortable enough just for one little boy- almost impossible to fit in for two-, and shut the door as quietly as they could manage. 

“What’s he doing?” Harry whispered after a few minutes of sitting in silence, not daring to breathe.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Dudley said in a low voice, peering through the small crack through the cupboard door. “I think he’s eating something- hey, that’s the chocolate Mum bought for me!”

“Dudley, _shh!”_

In his surprise, he had forgotten to lower his tone. But it was too late- Uncle Vernon had heard, and the two boys groaned in unison as the cupboard door swung open. Uncle Vernon dragged his son out, face bright red with embarrassment and anger.

“What are you _doing,_ Dudley?!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed, taking in the heavy backpack clutched in Dudley’s arms. “Are you- _were you trying to run away?”_

Aunt Petunia’s voice called distantly from the staircase. “What’s going on, Vernon?”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Uncle Vernon snarled, letting go of his son to yank Harry out of the cupboard. “That’s just fantastic. First, you tell Dudley to steal from us. Then, you convince him to- to run away! You’ve been nothing but a menace from the first time you crossed that threshold, boy. Well, you mark my words. As soon as it’s morning I’m dragging you over to military school. You’ll learn some right manners there, boy, and better yet, be out of our hair for good- _ouch!”_

Dudley stomped on his father’s foot, _hard_. In pain, he released his grip on the collar of Harry’s shirt, who quickly scurried away and sprinted towards the front door. Aunt Petunia uttered a soft shriek as she ran to her husband’s side, alternating between calling Dudley’s name in a pleading voice and threatening Harry with years of both military school and foster care.

“Run!” Dudley yelled as Harry’s hand froze over the knob, watching the scene unfold before him. Shaking his head, Harry turned the knob, skidded down the porch steps, and ran into the street, heart beating fast like a hunted animal’s. Vaguely he registered Dudley throwing himself out the door and falling in step beside him, laughing with a sort of exuberant glee as his parents’ shrieks rang out through the neighborhood behind them.

They ran for a very long time, the exhilaration pumping in their veins enough to propel them forward for what seemed to be at least half an hour of nonstop sprinting. Finally, they had to stop, breathing hard as they made their way to the main street. Harry had never been so far outside of Privet Drive before, and as he looked around him in wonder, Dudley clumsily unfolded a crumpled map from the backpack.

“Okay, I think that means, erm, we go onto Maple Street, walk down the block, and then there’s this hotel we can stay at… Harry, what’s our plan?”

Harry looked back at Dudley, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Harry avoided his gaze by looking at the map, suddenly very much aware that he had no idea what he was doing, or where they were going to go.

“Let’s stop at the hotel,” He said, tone conveying a confidence he didn’t feel, “and we can, erm, rest up until we make a plan. D’you think they’ll accept cash?”

“I dunno,” Dudley shrugged uncomfortably. “I guess we’ll find out.”

With that, the two boys headed down the street, making sure to hold hands when they crossed.


	2. Chapter 2

Minerva McGonagall considered herself to be a very patient woman.

Dealing with hormonal students for the better part of the year, of whom would often sneak out of bed to try to get to the girls’ dormitories, spray-paint the walls and charm them so that Filch couldn’t take them off no matter how hard he scrubbed, and trying to find _whoever_ thought it would be funny to tear up all the books about goblin revolts in the library right before Professor Binn’s O.W.L.s did that to a woman. But _this?_ This was the last straw.

Really, she didn’t understand why she didn’t intervene in the first place. She had never thought it was a good idea to leave Mr. Potter at the Dursleys in the first place, no matter what anyone thought. Nasty, cruel, ordinary folk such as that Vernon Dursley and his wife had no place raising the savior of the Wizarding World.

If she were any other woman, she would have stomped down to Albus’s office that very minute and give him a piece of her mind. As she was not any other woman but herself, she walked quite calmly down the hallways, stopping to pull Nymphadora Tonks off of the seventh year she was entwined with in the corridor, and made her way to the gargoyles in front of Albus’s office.

“Whish-and-flick,” she enunciated clearly. The gargoyles swung open, revealing a long spiral staircase of which she was only partially out of breath from by the time she finally arrived in front of his door.

“You’ve heard the news?” She asked promptly as she walked in. Albus was sitting at his desk, vivid blue eyes shut in meditation as he clasped his hands on the surface of his desk. He smiled wryly and opened his eyes as she stood in front of his desk, looking like a stern matriarch as she tightly clasped her hands together.

“Yes, Minerva, I’ve heard the news,” Dumbledore said, looking unreadable as he gestured for her to have a seat. Stiffly, she complied and waited for him to continue. “An owl delivered the newest edition of The Daily Prophet to me only an hour ago.”

He gestured to a newspaper sitting on the desk. A young Muggle boy’s unmoving school picture stared glumly up at Minerva and Albus, possibly- no, most _definitely_ procured by illegal means by Rita Skeeter. The headline proclaimed: _Harry Potter, Defeater of You Know Who, Gone for Good?_

“And?” Minerva demanded after a long pause. “What are your plans, Albus? What are you going to do?”

“Currently the Minister has employed several fine young Aurors to locate Mr. Potter and his cousin, and he has the highest confidence that they will find him by morning.” Dumbledore paused. “However, I had just decided that we simply cannot wait that long before you walked in. Tell me, Minerva, has there been any word from Azkaban?”

“Azkaban?” Minerva repeated, puzzled. “Why would-“

She cut herself off with a gasp.

“You don’t think Black has gotten a copy of The Daily Prophet so soon, do you, Albus?” She asked quietly. Albus smiled humorlessly.

“I believe that, if Black does manage to find out his godson is on the loose, things could turn very messy indeed. Please contact the guards at Azkaban as soon as we’re done here. Tell them to check on Sirius Black’s cell… and Bellatrix Lestrange’s as well.”

Minerva nodded, unsmiling. “Should I go fetch Severus?”

“Please.”

Minerva turned to leave. Albus cleared his throat, and she looked at him questioningly. His face was uncharacteristically grave, and when he spoke, so was his tone.

“You were right, Minerva. We should not have left him at his aunt and uncle’s house. Nothing is more valuable than a happy childhood, and I have deprived him of that.”

Though she had wanted to hear those words for so long, Minerva felt something akin to defensiveness rise in her chest as she stared into her colleague and friend’s wizened face, suddenly older beyond belief.

“It was not your fault, Albus. None of us could have known.”

“You did,” Albus said, blue eyes twinkling. “You predicted it from the very start. I should have listened to you- as always, I might add.”

Minerva stood in the doorway, hesitating whether to continue down the stairs in righteous triumph or to stay in Albus’s office and try, unsuccessfully, to console him about his previous mistakes. Albus made the decision for her. Turning back to his seat, the Headmaster reached over for the Daily Prophet and began to flip through, staring at the article with unfathomable eyes.

“You may go now, Professor,” He said, not looking up from the newspaper. Frowning, Minerva disappeared through the door and down the steps, somehow feeling less vindicated than when she had arrived.

* * *

Dudley had never been so tired in his entire life.

Sure, there were times at school when his teachers refused to let him get out of gym, but the running and the sports were not nearly as bad as sprinting down dark streets for what seemed to be an hour without stopping. Harry didn't seem winded much at all, though his face was sweaty and red as he pulled up the hood of Dudley's sweatshirt over his head. It was freezing; the temperature had dropped at least a few dozen degrees since that morning, but Dudley was too exhausted to maneuver around in his backpack to find his coat.

They had finally found a motel to stay at, relatively inexpensive and seemingly lacking any serial killers or murderers inside. It seemed perfectly nice and perfectly bland, the exact type Dudley's parents would have loved to visit. The thought gave Dudley a weird feeling in his chest- though he had been gleeful when he heard his father yelling at them to get back to the house right that instant, he knew things would be much harder from here on out without his mum to cradle him close to her chest every time he bruised himself, or watch his father sit at all his ball games even when the other team won by thirty points. He knew it wasn't worth it to stick around, the way they treated Harry and all, but the lump in his throat didn't ease away, either.

"Come on," Harry said, tugging on his arm. "W-we should get inside. I'm freezing."

Dudley followed him inside. The lobby was empty of a single living soul, and the front desk lady was slumped against the desk, snoring loudly as she threw her arm across her face. Dudley and Harry exchanged a look and walked closer, peering at her with wide eyes. Taking a deep breath, Dudley hovered his hand over her shoulder, ready to shake her away, when Harry suddenly lunged forward and grabbed his wrist before he could lay a finger on her.

"What are you doing?" Dudley asked in confusion, and in turn Harry pointed over to a sign hanging above the front desk. _No registration available for individuals younger than eighteen._

Anxiety inflated Dudley's chest as he stared at the sign. They didn't have anywhere else to stay, and it was much too cold to find park benches to sleep on tonight. They could probably sleep on the uncomfortable-looking couches surrounding the lobby, but what would happen when the front desk lady awoke and found them sleeping on hotel property? Would she call the cops? Or worse, would she call Dudley's parents?

He turned to Harry to ask him what he thought they should do, but Harry had suddenly disappeared. Alarmed, Dudley's head swiveled around, searching for his bespectacled cousin, when he noticed the door to the front desk had swung open. Peering over the edge, Dudley found Harry carefully rummaging through the desk. His gaze fluttered to the front desk lady in momentary panic, but she barely stirred.

"What are you looking for?" Dudley muttered as loudly as he dared.

"Keys," was Harry's short reply.

"They're on the wall behind the front desk," Dudley said automatically, though the view of the wall behind the front desk was obscured from where he was standing. Harry stood back on his feet and looked at Dudley questioningly, who shrugged awkwardly. "I've watched a lot of old American movies, and they always have the keys hanging on these sort of weird hooks on the wall behind the front desk."

Sure enough, Harry emerged a few seconds later with a set of keys unlocking door 107. Dudley started to make his way up the stairs, but Harry paused, looking at the front desk lady with a guilty expression.

"Let's leave her some money," Harry said, turning to Dudley. Dudley raised his eyebrows incredulously. She wouldn't even notice they had taken the keys in the first place!

But Harry was adamant, and Dudley knew better than to refuse. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he didn't want them to spend too much money in one place. They had to conserve what little wealth they had until they were able to make their way to the airport and buy two one-way tickets to America. Or, if they weren't able to board a plane, make their way to the coast and find tickets for one of those cruise ships Dad was always griping about his boss going on and leaving all the work to him.

Harry took a few banknotes from the thick wad in the zipper of the backpack and left it carefully on the desk next to the front desk lady's outstretched arm.

"Come on," Dudley griped. "Let's get to the room and rest before tomorrow. We'll probably need to hitchhike all the way to London to get to the airport. Or the coast."

With that, they climbed upstairs as quietly as they could and spent a few minutes trying to find room 107 before Harry finally spotted their room. They opened the door with a flourish, expecting lavish carpets and a huge chandelier hanging over cozy canopy beds. What they found was less than appealing. For starters, there was only one single bed that was covered with a layer of dust. The carpet was a dull beige that had a weird brown stain smearing the entire northern part of the room. And the TV didn't open no matter how many Dudley pressed the on switch on the remote control.

They took turns washing up in the bathroom. Dudley had forgotten to bring tooth brushes, so the ten-year-olds improvised by using their fingers instead. After they were done, they turned off the lights and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over their heads in case anyone outside in the hallways could hear them.

"Alright, Dudley?" Harry asked, fumbling with his glasses and reaching his arm out to put them safely on the nightstand.

"I'm scared," Dudley admitted. "I don't know if we'll be able to make it without them trying to catch us. What if we're- we're put in orphanages or something, like Annie?"

"They won't catch us," Harry told him. Dudley could feel his gaze on his face even through the darkness, and he thought about all the years that had passed between them. Whenever Mum and Dad weren't home, Dudley would challenge Harry to a game of Street Fighter. They'd talk about what they were going to be when they grew up (for Dudley, the king. For Harry, a policeman). They would share a bowl of ice cream and watch a movie, lounging on the couch until they heard the car screech up the driveway and quickly cover up all the evidence of ignored chores. If there was anyone in the world he would have wanted to run away with, it would have been Harry. He knew him better than anyone, even Piers Morgan.

"I know," Dudley said as his eyes drooped shut. "You won't let them."

If he had stayed awake for a few minutes longer, he would have heard the lump in Harry's throat as he whispered, "Yeah." As it was, he was completely exhausted with the days events, and fell asleep in a matter of seconds.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

In all his years living in Azkaban, Sirius Black never truly considered breaking out until now.

Sure, the prospect of being locked up in the same godforsaken hole, day in, day out, for the rest of his life wasn't exactly thrilling. But he deserved it, and so when his sentence came nine years ago, he didn't try to fight it. He let them drag him off and throw him in a jail cell, too weary with the world and with himself to move a muscle. His thoughts bordered on obsessive most of the time, mostly about Harry, but he thought that was well deserved. Especially now, with his picture staring up at Sirius from the jail cell's floor.

He looked sad. And skinny. Too skinny; but that was to be expected, considering the fact that his aunt and uncle apparently hadn't fed him the entire day. His glasses were askew on his nose, green eyes squinting through them at the camera; he must've needed a new prescription. That was what Muggles called it, right? Sirius wouldn't know. Before everything happened, when he was still a bright-eyed teenager who thought it was him and James against the world, he was more preoccupied with listening to Muggle music and wearing Muggle fashions than researching their optometry methods. When he found Harry, he'd have to rectify that.

Turning into his Animagus form always drained the energy out of him- particularly at the moment, with his ribs sticking out prominently from his prison uniform and the last night of sleep he had around nine years or so ago. But the Dementors had glided to another wing for the night (his cousin's, coincidentally, but Sirius didn't want to read too much into that), and there was no time like the present to pull an impossible escape from one of the most well-guarded magical prisons in the world. He took a deep breath to steady himself, staring at Harry's melancholy little face looking up at him from the grimy corner, and turned.

What happened next was so anti-climatic Sirius truly couldn't believe his luck. He grabbed the paper from the corner with his mouth, slipped through the bars of the cage, and made his way down the corridor. The prisoners, thankfully, were too immersed in their own insanity to notice the black dog trotting down the hallway with a newspaper in his mouth; they probably thought it was some sort of hallucination brought on by years-old malnutrition and untreated mental illnesses, and if Sirius had been them, he would've thought the same thing. He made his way to the door at the end of the corridor, down the steps that he had been dragged against nine years ago, through the hallway at the end of the staircase, and made his way to the front door of Azkaban, a huge, looming, imposing thing that was currently shut.

Sirius stared up at it, aghast. His paws weren't meant to open doors with huge knobs the size of a small child. They were meant strictly for running away from people who wanted to inflict damage upon him. And if he were to turn back into a human, the guards would sense his presence out of his cell almost immediately. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, ignoring his erratic heartbeat in his chest. There were iron walls surrounding Azkaban he would have to climb once he escaped the prison itself; that alone would already point the guards in his direction. If he was going to turn, it was better now than never.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, he turned back into his human form and twisted the knobs, holding the newspaper between his teeth. The doors gusted open, sending in a spray of sea salt and the harsh sting of wind blowing across his face. He gulped in the air heavily, feeling very much like a man who had wandered the desert for years finally finding a flask of water. He didn't have a lot of time to marvel at the feeling of cold, clean air, however; the guards were drawing near, suspicious about the presence of a human form outside of a cell. Sirius took off running down the steps, feeling the terrain turn to slosh underneath his feet as he sprinted over to the iron walls. They were chipped severely from years of wind and water damage, enough to allow him to get a firm grip on the walls as he hoisted himself upwards. He could feel the Dementors drawing nearer; the air turned colder than ever, almost a little staticky, and the exhilaration of escaping faded into a dull pain in his chest as he forced himself to grab onto another crack in the wall.

"Come on," he whispered to himself, speech muffled by the Daily Prophet in his mouth. "You can do this."

Miraculously, he made it to the top. He paused and looked over his shoulder at Azkaban, the place he had reluctantly called home for the past nine years. He gazed at the tower he had been held in, the tall turrets and the imposing figure it made against the foggy night sky. He was never going to come back to this wretched place, not for all the Galleons in the world. With that thought lingering in his mind, he threw himself down from the ledge, reverting into his Animagus form just before he hit the ground, and ran for the ocean, feeling something akin to happiness blossoming in his chest as he dived into the freezing waters.

* * *

"Harry, wake up."

"Mmph."

"Harry, you've got to wake up!"

"Five more minutes, Aunt Petunia..."

Harry rolled over on his side, scrunching his nose as Aunt Petunia shook him awake. He had the most fantastical dream, that he and Dudley had escaped Privet Drive for good, and if he closed his eyes hard enough he could still almost hear Uncle Vernon's voice screaming at them as they skidded down the street once and for all. He smiled dreamily, pulling the blankets over his head that, registering only vaguely that the blankets were much fluffier and less threadbare than usual.

Harry frowned as he shifted under the blankets. Aunt Petunia would never spare a thread count more than twelve over her nephew. Why were the blankets so-

"Dudley!" Harry exclaimed, sitting straight up in bed. Dudley's face lingered over his own, looking concerned and not the slightest bit panicked. It wasn't a dream! The thought would've ordinarily made Harry want to jump out of bed in glee- he had escaped!- but Dudley looked much too anxious to fully join in in Harry's euphoria. Something was quite clearly wrong, but before he could open his mouth to ask Dudley was yanking him off of the bed.

"Harry, we have to leave," Dudley hissed, throwing their backpack over his shoulders. It was already loaded with all their belongings, sagging uncomfortably over Dudley's back. "There's a man- he's asking about us. He's looking for us. For _you_!"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Inching closer to the door, he pressed his ear across the wood and focused intently on the noise coming from the hallway. It was a man's voice, low and insistent. If Harry opened the door just a crack, he could make out some of his words. 

"...and it's imperative we get the children back to their parents as quickly as possible. They're worried sick," the man continued on. Harry could make out his figure standing in the hallway, turned away from their door as he talked to the front desk lady they had seen earlier. The man didn't look like any police officer Harry had ever seen- his hair was long, platinum blonde, and the traditional outfit was replaced by a sharp suit that looked more expensive than the entirety of Number 4, Privet Drive. "You wouldn't have happened to see them, would you?"

Harry closed the door and turned back to Dudley, feeling a twisted knot form in his stomach. "He says Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are worried sick! But that can't be right... can it?"

"Definitely not," Dudley said automatically, grinning at Harry all of a sudden. "Did you see Dad's expression when we ran out of the house?"

Harry smiled at the sudden memory, but it faded as he heard footsteps pad over closer to their room. Alarmed, he moved closer to Dudley, straining his ears as the man turned back to the front desk lady.

"Ms. Johnson, was it? I don't suppose you have any cameras around this fine establishment, do you?"

His back was still turned to their door. Harry pressed his face against the crack of the door, watching the man edge closer to the woman. She brushed her curly blonde hair out of her eyes, looking a little uncomfortable as he inched closer.

"No, Mr. Malfoy," Ms. Johnson smiled, avoiding his gaze. "We're meant to wire some up next week or so."

"A pity," The man sighed. "Well, at least you're good for something."

Harry frowned. Before he could even react, Mr. Malfoy whipped out a polished stick from his suit jacket and pointed it at Ms. Johnson, who stared at its tip with widening eyes. She looked back up at him in fear, but he wasn't even looking at her anymore.

"Imperio!" He exclaimed, and Harry jumped. An odd, wispy material came out of the stick's tip and engulfed Ms. Johnson in it, slowly absorbing into her skin. Mr. Malfoy pocketed the stick and smiled down at her. "Now, go downstairs, do your job, and if you see Mr. Potter or Mr. Dursley at any time, you will contact me immediately. Now shoo."

Ms. Johnson smiled dreamily and walked down the corridor as if in a trance. Harry let out a gasp as he turned to Dudley, feeling a wave of emotions crash over him.

"Did you see that?" He asked as quietly as he could. Dudley stared at the crack through the door, frozen.

"He- he just took that stick out and did something to her!" Dudley breathed, face contorting in dread. "What if- what if he's from the government? What if they're going to send us to jail for running away? Is that a crime?!"

"Shh!" Harry hissed, but it was too late. Much like yesterday, they paused in horror, staring at each other as the man paused in the hallway and crept closer to the door. In a panic, Harry looked around for somewhere to hide, but it was no use- the space between the bed and the floor was much too minuscule for them to squeeze through, the bathroom too tiny to fit both of them in at once, and the closet space was being taken up by towels and linens. The only way out was through the door and through the window, which was located on the second floor of the building.

Harry darted over to the window, praying to whatever entity was listening that they could make their way down. It didn't seem to be that bad of a landing- they'd probably just sprain their ankles when they fell, and Harry had a good sense of these things from the time he had somehow found himself on the roof of his school's building and had to jump down from the landing to the jungle gym on the playground. He gestured for Dudley to come through the window, but Dudley shook his head, paralyzed with fear.

"We'll break our necks!" He whisper-shouted, staring down at the parking lot with huge eyes.

"No, we won't!" Harry whispered back. "Just trust me, Dudley! We have to go- now!"

The door burst open, but before Mr. Malfoy could point his government-issued stick at either of them, the boys disappeared through the window and landed hard on the pavement, running as though they were being chased.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly tried my best to make Harry and Dudley's part of the story sort of Stranger Things-esque, so please tell me if I succeeded or not!


	4. Chapter 4

For all the claims his wife made of him, Lucius Malfoy was not a family man. He never had been, really; his parents, like all respectable pureblood couples, maintained a professional space between themselves and their children- or, in this case, child, cultivating Lucius's growth into a sophisticated member of their elite class without staining it by means of sentimentality or affection.

  
That wasn't to say he wasn't fond of his wife or child, because he was. Narcissa Malfoy was one of the most elegant, sharp witches he had the pleasure of knowing- and it didn't hurt that she was exceedingly lovely to look at, either. Draco was turning out to be a fine boy indeed, obedient but cunning; he would make a fine Slytherin when the time came, and an even finer Death Eater. 

But in all his years, Lucius Malfoy could never honestly say that he put his family before his career. How could he? The Dark Lord was not a man to be taken as a trifle, as a simple side job. He required, as Alastair Moody was so fond of saying, constant vigilance. Narcissa and Draco knew this perfectly well- or, as well as to be expected. So when Narcissa came inside his study a mere hour after he had lost the boys, Lucius was taken aback by the look of cold fury on her face.

  
After a most humiliating defeat, he had tried casting tracking spells on the boys, but they moved faster than most of the Death Eaters Lucius had worked with- even the chubby one. He could only imagine them running like rabbits away from the hunter, not understanding why this was happening to them, not understanding how vital they were to bringing the Dark Lord back once and for all. And, much like rabbits, they moved much too quickly for the clumsy hunter to follow. Lucius Apparated back to Malfoy Manor after a quick scan of the room Potter and his cousin were staying in, finding only rumpled sheets and pillows strewn on the floor.

  
Now, sitting in his study and facing his upset wife, Lucius marveled at how his fortune tossed and turned.

  
"Narcissa," he greeted, slowly and cautiously. Narcissa's delicate lips twitched in disapproval as she stared at him, eyes betraying nothing.

  
"Lucius," she said, voice high and frosty. "You never told me you were trying to find Potter and his Muggle cousin."

  
"You found out," Lucius murmured, not even a question. Of course she found out; she was his wife. What self-respecting Malfoy wouldn't take matters into their own hands?

  
"Yes," Narcissa agreed, taking a seat down in the chair across from Lucius's. She crossed her legs underneath the table and folded her hands together, never breaking eye contact with her husband as she did so. "I found out. I thought we agreed that you would discuss with me everything pertaining to the Dark Lord, Lucius. We said as much when you joined his ranks. So why, dare I ask, must I find out from Fenrir Greyback that you were following Potter and the Muggle without telling me or Draco a single word about it?"

  
"Narcissa, darling," Lucius began, only slightly quailing under his wife's piercing gaze. "What difference would it make if you knew? There is nothing to be done here; the boys escaped, and now they're getting themselves hopelessly lost in Muggle streets. It'll only be a matter of time before I find them, you know this."

He leaned over and placed his hand on top of his wife's. Narcissa flinched at the contact and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as though trying to calm herself down.

  
"You could've told us," she persisted. "Instead of going off on your own in the foolish hopes of ascending the ranks. If you get caught by the Ministry, they won't give you a trial at all- they'll send you straight off to Azkaban, and you'll be thrown into a nice, cozy cell next to my sister's. I know you're ambitious, Lucius, but you cannot hope to find them without help."

  
Lucius stayed quiet. Narcissa sighed, pulled her hand from underneath his, and stood up abruptly from the chair.

  
"I'm contacting the others," she told him, turning to the door. Before she twisted the knob and let herself out, she gave him one last concerned, searching look. "The Dark Lord will know of your loyalty, Lucius. But going through this without a plan will not result in anything but disaster."

  
With that, she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Lucius breathed in the scent she left behind- the lightest of lilac perfume-, sighed, and called Dobby to him. The House-Elf appeared with a pop, staring up at him with huge eyes as he fretfully smoothed down the ragged cloth hanging over his bony frame. Lucius smiled to himself, reveling in the power that came with making one scared simply by presence alone, and leaned down toward the little creature.

  
"You will find Harry Potter and his cousin," he instructed in a low voice. "And once you find them, you will befriend them, and tell them of a place you know they'll be safe inside. Once they trust you, you will take them here and lock them up in the dungeons."

Dobby trembled. "H-Harry Potter, sir? The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding Wor-"

  
"Yes, yes!" Lucius snapped, and the creature flinched back. "And if you don't come back within the next week, there will be consequences indeed. Do you understand?"

  
Trembling, the House-Elf nodded and Disapparated from the study. Lucius smiled to himself and clasped his hands, leaning back in his chair contentedly. Narcissa would see; this would all work out the way he planned.

* * *

  
"We're going to die, aren't we?" Dudley moaned, grasping Harry's hand with a grip so tight he was sure was going to break his fingers. They had been running for what felt like hours until they finally had to stop at an intersection, bent over and gasping for breath. The passerby on the street gave them odd looks as they passed, but Dudley couldn't muster up the strength to care. He had run more in these past few days than he had ever run in his entire life.

  
"No," Harry choked out from beside him, "we're not."

  
"He- was- from- the- government!" Dudley wheezed, clutching at his knees as he bent over and nearly retched on the sidewalk. The people walking past gave them a wide berth, as though they were carrying some sort of communicable disease that would kill them if they walked too close. It was the same type of look, Dudley thought, that his mother and father gave homeless people or teenagers on the street- untrusting and suspicious. "We're going to go to jail, Harry! I'm too young to go to jail!"

  
"Dudley," Harry said, eyes fluttering shut, "we're not going to go to jail. They don't put you in jail for running away from home... right?"

  
Dudley shrugged helplessly. After a minute or two of gasping for breath, the boys straightened up and looked around them for clues as to where they were. Far away from Maple Street and Privet Drive, that much Dudley knew. They had reached some sort of city- loud, bustling, swarming with people and cars. Tall buildings towered over them from every direction, frightening in their width and height.

  
"We're not in London, are we?" Dudley wondered hesitantly, feeling immediately stupid for even asking.

  
"I don't think so," Harry said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He turned to Dudley, wearing a serious expression on his face. "Dudley, I don't think that man was from the government."

  
"But he was wearing a suit!" Dudley protested. The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, like he said something amusing.

  
"I don't think it works that way, Dudley. Did- did you see that stick he had with him? It was almost like..." Here Harry trailed off, eyes fluttering to the cracked pavement. Dudley looked at him with wide eyes.

  
"Like what?"

  
"Magic," Harry whispered, all traces of humor gone from his face. Dudley felt something like guilt instantly blossom into his chest. Mum and Dad never liked him to talk about anything that wasn't completely grounded in reality- especially magic; he still cringed when he remembered his Disney phase. They thought it would give him and Harry ideas, whatever that meant. Dad insisted it was just purely impractical, and Mum always said Disney was a bad influence, but deep down, Dudley always knew there was more to it.

  
"So you think he was a witch?" Dudley asked in a low voice, looking around to see if anybody had overheard them.

  
"Yeah," Harry said, his voice matching Dudley's pitch and intensity. "That's the only explanation for- well, for everything! He did something to that lady, Dudley. He put a hex on her or something."

  
"You're right," Dudley mumbled, feeling something like dread twist in his stomach. "What do you reckon we should do now?"

  
"Find a library," said Harry resolutely, squaring his shoulders. "We need to learn as much as we can about magic before that man tries to find us again."

  
"What do you think he wanted with us in the first place?" Dudley wondered as they started to walk down the street. Sooner or later, they were bound to find a library- and besides that, he was much too frightened of the passerby (nearly all men and women in smart suits and crisp ties) to ask for directions.

  
"I don't know," Harry admitted, craning his neck to look at Dudley as they walked. "But we're going to find out. Right?"

  
"Right," Dudley agreed, not believing himself in the slightest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm under the firm belief that, given a push in the right direction, Dudley could've been a pretty good cousin instead of a bully. And also, I just wanted an excuse to write young Harry, okay?


End file.
